


Charlie Tries to Get Better

by siriuspiggyback



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Dyslexia, Gen, Learning Disabilities, Mental Health Issues, Multi, charlie learns to read, me? woobifying charlie? hell yeah, set around season 10 maybe?? idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-14 15:31:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16495367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuspiggyback/pseuds/siriuspiggyback
Summary: Here’s the thing: Charlie knows he’s dumb. He’s known it since he saw the pinched look on his mother’s face at his first parent-teacher conference. But Dee was incapable of learning that Dennis and Mac would never care about her news, and Mac still seemed to believe that he was a master of karate, so maybe he wasn’t so out of place.Maybe it was time to learn.





	1. The Past

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my drafts forever so

Here’s the thing: Charlie knows he’s dumb. He’s known it since he saw the pinched look on his mother’s face at his first parent-teacher conference. He had tried to tell her that it wasn’t his fault; the letters wouldn’t stay still when he tried to read them. In sixth grade, his teacher suggested testing. Charlie hadn’t known what she meant, because they had tests in class all the time, but Charlie’s mom got all upset, her voice going high and loud, and the teacher didn’t suggest it again. He knew for sure that he was dumb when Schmitty laughed at him when he saw Charlie’s homework, and Mac didn’t defend him, just looked away awkwardly. 

 

By High School, he had already accepted that he wasn’t smart, and he stopped trying in school. His physics teacher took him aside and asked if everything was okay at home, asked why Charlie had stopped asking questions in class. Charlie had shrugged, and explained that there wasn’t really any point, was there? She had given him that same pinched look that his mom had worn at his parent-teacher conference, and suddenly Charlie felt very small and exposed like one of the bugs he would pin down. She had told him that he had  _ potential - _ that he was smart, and creative, and thoughtful - and Charlie found himself smiling, but then she had to go ruin it by suggesting being tested for something, for dyslexia, and he thought of his mother's face and Schmitty’s jeers and politely declined.

 

One thing that gave him a guilty kind of reassurance was that the rest of the gang were kind of dumb too. Sure, maybe Charlie couldn’t read all that good, but Dee was incapable of learning that Dennis and Mac would never care about her news, and Mac still seemed to believe that he was a master of karate, so maybe he wasn’t so out of place. Charlie was dumb, but at least he understood emotions, something that seemed to stump the others.

 

So while they went in circles, destroying any new opportunities and never moving forward, Charlie at least was aware of how stupid they were being, even if he didn’t point it out. Sometimes being reckless and destructive was easier than actually looking at his life. As long as he didn’t think too long, he didn’t feel that awful pit in his stomach, and in Paddy’s Pub, too much thinking wasn’t a problem. But sometimes, he remembered his physics teacher, and potential, and felt a sort of grief for what could have been. Whenever he started thinking about it, he reminded himself of Schmitty’s laughter and his parent-teacher conference and went out to go get drunk or high or set something on fire. And it was fine. He was fine. He shoved it down to that little spot in his brain where he put uncle Jack and Christmas and his dad and every other thing that he didn’t want to think about. And he was fine.

 

If anyone had asked about why Charlie was so dumb sometimes - which, no one really had - he would tell them that words didn’t make any sense to him. On pages they crawled and on his tongue they twisted and sometimes when people talk the words run together like when he accidentally spilled beer on his diary and the ink smeared everywhere so that even he couldn’t read it. That didn’t mean that he was always dumb. He noticed things, things that other people didn’t. He saw the way Dennis looked at food sometimes, the way that Mac looked at men sometimes. Charlie didn’t point those things out, but it didn’t mean he hadn’t seen it. Some days Charlie got tired of the rest of the gang. They called him stupid, but they didn’t even understand themselves.

  
  


One day, Charlie had stopped at the bodega and seen his physics teacher there. He didn’t say hi. She looked busy, and probably wouldn’t recognise him anyway. Later, though, he wondered what she would have said if he had tried to talk to her. Would she still think he had potential?

 

He thought about alcoholics anonymous, and his musical career, and all the other things that he had quit. He thought about his future; he was probably on track to die of alcohol poisoning, alone. He thought that it might be time to make a change.

  
  


The next week, he went back to alcoholics anonymous. The waitress wasn't there this time. It was probably for the best. Charlie knew that as soon as he saw the waitress, everything else became secondary. He sat at the back and didn't say anything, but he did listen. He gained a new sponsor: a tall, dark skinned woman named Marcia. She was no-nonsense in a way that was almost intimidating, but at least she wasn’t using him to get to Dennis, and she told him to call her whenever he needed to. It didn't happen overnight, but soon Charlie began drinking less and less. The gang hadn't noticed, but he hadn't really expected them to either. It became harder to be part of their antics. When he was drunk, which had been most days, it was easier to go along with whatever ridiculous plot the others had come up with. Hell, when he was drunk, he came up with plenty of stupid plans himself. As a result, he was spending less time at the bar. It made him realise that he didn't really have anywhere else to be. 

 

One day, on a whim, he went to the library. He looked through some novels, before realising the only books he would be able to read were in the children's section. He considered looking at them, but thought that it would make him look like a creep. He went back to the apartment and got black out drunk with Frank instead. It wasn't until the next AA meeting that he regretted it, when he told the group about it and they looked at him with that all too familiar expression of pity and disappointment. It took him three weeks to get the courage to return to the library. When he did, he spoke to a kind looking receptionist who told him about the free adult reading classes that they held on Thursday evenings. Charlie left with a leaflet and a promise that he would give it a try.

 

Charlie had expected to hate the reading classes (and it took him a few beers until he felt calm enough to go.) It didn't take him long to realise that everyone there was about as dumb as him, and then it didn't feel so embarrassing. He sat next to a hispanic girl who always shared a smile with Charlie when he answered something right, which Charlie returned shyly. It was taught by a dude in jeans, so it didn’t feel like school, and he went real slow over the harder bits, and never laughed even when Charlie asked really dumb questions. Three weeks in, the teacher asked Charlie to stay behind - like high school all over again - but he didn’t ask Charlie any questions, just gave him a few coloured see through sheets and told him to give them a try. Charlie gave him a long look, couldn’t help but ask, “Are you screwing with me here?” The teacher did laugh then, and told him to give them a try. He waited until he had the apartment to himself to try it, feeling foolish, placing the colours over his workbook. The first few did nothing except, well, making the page colourful. He was just about to give up and resolve not to go back to the class when he looked through the yellow sheet and found that the words suddenly seemed bolder, easier to read. He went back to the next class feeling a little more optimistic. 

 

Eventually, the gang started noticing that he wasn’t around so much any more. One afternoon, when Charlie came to the bar to find the place covered in slightly rose petals (he didn’t ask), Mac said, “Hey Charlie, where have you been?”

 

“Oh, y’know,” said Charlie, although no, they didn’t know, and that was how he wanted to keep things. He quickly went a got the broom before anyone asked more questions. They generally didn’t talk much whilst he was cleaning; Charlie suspected that they didn’t want to get roped into helping. He only half listened whilst Dee and Dennis screeched at each other, feeling half exhausted by them, tempted to go get a drink to take the edge off. He didn’t, because he had just managed a week sober. He knew that wasn’t very long, but everyone at AA had seemed impressed, and he didn’t want to go back next week to tell them he was off the wagon already. He had decided to leave as soon as he was done cleaning, but Mac caught him in the relative privacy of the men's room before he could sneak off. 

 

“What’s going on with you, man?”

 

“Nothing, nothing’s up with ol’ Charlie,” said Charlie, voice too high and too fast. 

 

Mac gave him a weird look. “Have you got new friends or something? Why aren’t you hanging out at the bar anymore?” 

 

“New friends? No!” 

 

“Then why are you avoiding us?” said Mac, and Charlie thought his eyes looked a little hurt.

 

“I’m not, I’m not avoiding you, I just-” Charlie stumbled.

 

“Dude, don’t bullshit me!” cried Mac

 

“I’m an alcoholic!”

 

There was a moment of silence, where Charlie wished he could take the words back.  Mac seemed to be frozen in place as the seconds ticked on, before he let out a laugh. “An  _ alcoholic?” _ said Mac, incredulous. “Well Christ, Charlie, half of Phili’ are alcoholics, it’s not a big deal!”

 

Charlie felt wrong footed. “It's not?”

 

Mac slung an arm over Charlies shoulder. “Of course, dude! Let's go have a beer, it's been way too long-”

 

“Mac!” Charlie shucked his arm from shoulders, “I'm an  _ alcoholic _ . I'm trying to get sober.”

 

“What, so- so you're not gonna hang out at the bar anymore?”

 

“No, I mean-,” Charlie stuttered, “I'm still working here, I just-”

 

“Right. Right,” said Mac, frowning pensively. “So… no drinking at all?”

 

“Listen, don't tell the others, alright? I just-”

 

“Sure, of course. My lips are sealed.”

  
  


Charlie went home with a bitter taste in his mouth. If he didn't have the gang, then who did he have? He wanted to do better, he did, but he didn't want to lose his friends to do it. He really wanted a drink. He called Marcia instead. 


	2. secret told

At the next reading class, they were starting the intermediate class, having passed the beginners section which focused on phonetics (fo-net-ics). It was the first time in a long time that Charlie had passed anything. The teacher congratulated them on becoming one step closer to being ‘fully literate’.

At the end of the class, the girl who sat next to him - Elena, he remembered - gave him her number, suggesting they could try studying together. “Not a date,” she said, “just studying.” 

“Of course, of course!” said Charlie eagerly. He smiled to himself for the rest of the day. 

When Charlie went back to the bar, Mac kept shooting him these weird looks, like he couldn't figure Charlie out. Typically, the others didn't seem to notice, only making a joke about Charlie being pregnant when he turned down a beer.

The next day, he called Elena to organise their study date. His stomach rolled when he thought about it too much, nervous at the prospect of a friend outside of the gang. It felt a little like betrayal. They ended up meeting in a little independent coffee shop, and Charlie wished he had worn anything but his stained jeans and grey hoodie, but Elena just smiled sunnily from the table she was saving, workbook and notes already spread in front of her.

“Hey, Charlie!” she said as he pulled out his study materials, his handwriting embarrassingly childish in contrast with her neat script.

“Hey, how’s it going?” said Charlie, rummaging through his beat-up backpack until he pulled out his yellow overlay.

“Oh, is that for dyslexia?” asked Elena, before looking a little chagrined at her own forwardness.

“Yeah,” said Charlie, “I guess. I mean, I wasn’t tested or whatever, but I cant read for shit and this seems to help, so…” 

“Right,” said Elena.

“What about- I mean, are you dyslexic, or…?” 

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. English is actually my second language; my family moved to America when I was twelve. I picked it up pretty quick, but I never got that great with reading it.”

“Really? You don’t have an accent though!” blurted Charlie.

Elena laughed. “I guess not. It comes out a little when I’m around my family though,” she said, ears turning a little pink.

It was then that Charlie realised that Elena was probably smart. She must find him pretty dumb - English was his only language, and he couldn’t even read that. “Cool, cool. Do you want, like, a coffee or-”

“Oh, sorry, I got one before you got here,” she said, gesturing to the still steaming mug at her elbow. 

“No worries, I’ll just…” he said, wandering over to the counter. He ordered himself a black coffee, ignoring the craving for something stronger. 

When he sat back at their table, Elena had pulled out this weeks vocab sheet - they were aiming to learn to spell 20 words a week - as well as a stack of blank cards. “I was thinking we could make some flash cards?”

“Sure,” said Charlie, despite the fact he had never made flashcards in his life. 

He found that studying with someone was infinitely better than doing it alone in his apartment whenever Frank wasn’t around. It wasn’t so frustrating when there was someone to work through it with, someone to sound it out with you. Elena wouldn’t let him give up when he got stuck, which was a bad habit of his. Weirdly, it was even kind of fun. Charlie had tried to study with Mac a few times in high school, but it usually ended with them going out to throw rocks at trains. By time they finished their coffee, they both knew their vocab words inside out, and they had a plan to meet back in a week time.

 

 

Charlie was officially a month sober. He went to that weeks AA meeting with a skip in his step. A month sober meant that he would be getting his first sobriety token, and excitement had settled low in his stomach. This was probably the longest he had been sober since he was… fourteen? Despite himself, he was kind of proud.

He should have known it wouldn’t last long.

He had just found his usual seat in the back corner where he didn’t feel watched when he heard a commotion out in the hallway. He turned, shared a bemused look with Marcia (his sponsor, seventeen months sober, sits two seats down from Charlie). Lewis, the group leader, was stood at the front, just about to start the discussion, when the noise got louder, resolving into voices - familiar voices.

“Charlie! My man!”

Charlie’s stomach dropped down to his toes, because he knew those voices, and they didn’t belong here. He stood, rushing towards the doorway to head them off.

“Hey, guys, what…” Charlie ran a hand over his head, a nervous tic. “What are you guys doing here?”

Dennis tried to peer around Charlie into the room with a snakeoil smile and manic eyes. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” 

“We’re gonna sell drinks!” proclaimed Frank, hugging a keg to his chest.

Charlie’s gaze slid over to Mac. He was slouching at the back of the group, wearing a hangdog expression. He wouldn’t meet Charlie’s eyes. 

“God damn it,” hissed Charlie, “You guys have to get out of here.”

Unsurprisingly, this was ineffective, and Dennis pushed past him, holding a bottle of vodka high like a trophy. The gang followed, hollering about cheap beer, and who wanted a shot? Lewis yelled over them, trying to get their attention, and Charlie swore loudly, and all the noise was making his hands shake. He could see a few people looking tempted, and Shy Steve, who was even worse a sobriety than Charlie, had stood up with his wallet out, and it was all going wrong. This was meant to be his thing. They didn’t belong there, weren’t even supposed to know about this, and Mac had promised! 

Mac was hovering by Charlie’s elbow, watching him, and Mac was his best friend but he had promised. In that moment, none of that mattered, because a tidal wave of anger was crashing over Charlie, he couldn’t think, and he tried to count his breaths like Marcia always said but then Mac’s hand was on his shoulder and then Charlie’s fist was colliding with Mac’s face and Mac was falling back and Charlie followed and pinned him. He hit him again, pain in his knuckles and his head. More hands on him, and someone was yelling, “Don’t touch me!”, and Charlie was pulled off Mac. Things got a little blurry for a second, and Charlie realised he wasn’t breathing, so he started counting again, one, two, three…

When Charlie’s head got clearer, he realised everything was quiet now. Everyone was looking at him, and Mac, and Dennis who was checking Mac’s bloody nose. They looked at Charlie like a wild thing. Marcia was wide eyed, staring.

Lewis cleared his throat, stating, “All of you, go, or I’ll call the cops.”

The gang filed out slowly, warily. When they had all left, Charlie sitting alone on the floor, hugging his knees, Lewis had approached slowly. “That means you too, Charlie.” He sounded sad, a little bit. Charlie was sad too, although he knew they wouldn’t want him anymore, had known from the moment his friends had stepped past the door. 

He walked home in a daze, stopping only at the corner store to pick up some liquor. He thought about seeing his old physics teacher here, how hopeful he had felt. Now he just felt tired. The adrenaline rush had left him shaky and dizzy, and he felt a bizarre urge to cry, although he wasn't sure what about. Mac said that only girls and queers cry, but Mac's an idiot. Still, Charlie choked back his tears.


End file.
